


Rise or Set

by moonflowers



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post S4 CS, Sexual Content, dodgy Spanish translations ahoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The phrase lingered in Thomas' mind. A change...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Thomas always knew he'd leave Downton one day, leave the grey skies of England for sun-drenched southern slopes.</p><p>ON HIATUS: I don't like where I planned to go with this fic originally, and I can't see a way around it :/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I started another multi-chapter thing. I think it's safe to say I've got too much time on my hands.  
> This is set a year and a half/two years after the S4 Christmas special. And there's probably a lot more I was meant to say about it, but I can't remember any of it right now.

It was early morning as Thomas made the walk back up to Downton from the village. It was mild; a grey sky just starting to brighten, and cold enough for his breath to mist as he walked. As was customary, he didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings, having walked the path enough times that he could do so without thinking. His shined shoes crunched on the scattering of loose stones as he made his way up the last incline of the road, and the great house came into sight. There were few things that Thomas let himself get sentimental about, and he’d never thought that Downton would be one of them. A house was just a house no matter how great, and he was only ever a servant, when all was said and done. But then, he supposed it was only natural to feel a little for something he’d put so much of his life into. Something that had changed as he had changed, risen and fallen with the years. Somewhere he’d made friends, though be it often grudgingly, and where, against all odds, he’d found love.  
The morning mist was beginning to lift, the trees in the grounds greener and brighter, the tallest points of the house sharp against the sky. Thomas glanced anxiously at his watch as he approached the back door, hoping he wasn’t too late as to arouse suspicion. He tucked it back into his waistcoat and let himself in. Thankfully, it seemed to be only a few hall boys and the odd kitchen maid scurrying about the still dim servants’ hall, and they never paid him much mind unless he addressed them first. Mostly, they just wanted to stay out of his way, and avoid one of his famed dressing-downs. It was as though they were a different class all of their own – had he ever been looked at by his superiors in the dismissive way in which he regarded them now? Of course he had, though it felt like another life altogether. 

The staff knew that Thomas rented a small place in the village; that he would spend the odd night there if it so pleased him, or occasionally go there on a half day to get away from the bustle of the house for a bit. They all knew, or could take a guess, at what he did there, though it wasn’t something they talked about. Not unless it was heavily euphemised and behind a closed door, anyway.  
His arrangement was not so dissimilar to what Mr and Mrs Bates had, really. But just because some of the staff knew of his sometimes home in the village, it didn’t mean they approved. Most didn’t give a hang (rightly so; it was none of their business) but Mr Carson still scowled in distaste whenever Thomas spent the night away from Downton. But on the whole, if it didn’t interfere with his work, no one gave it a second thought. There was still the odd whisper and smirk among the hall boys of course, at the mention of those particular rumours concerning Mr Barrow and the ex-footman, but they were usually silenced with a well-practised glare. 

He sat at the table and leafed through yesterday’s paper, waiting for the remainder of the house to wake. He didn’t have to wait long – the kitchen staff made their presence abundantly clear quite quickly; Mrs Patmore giving her orders like an army general with his troops, and Daisy’s long suffering replies in return. Though Daisy probably wouldn’t be at Downton much longer, he supposed. Last year, among a great many other changes, Alfred had finally got his head together and asked her to marry him. They were engaged now, and she would probably be handing in her notice sometime in the next year or so. Strange, he never thought he’d see the girl as important enough to miss either; just like the house.  
Mrs Hughes appeared from her sitting room not long after, pausing to chivvy on some sleepy housemaids before greeting him.

“Ah, Thomas. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mrs Hughes.” He nodded and set aside the paper.

“I trust you’ve remembered Mr Carson is taking a few days to visit his friend Mr Grigg while things are quiet,” she paused, “therefore ultimately leaving the running of the house to you.”

“Yes, I remember, Mrs Hughes,” he said with a small smile, “but I think we all know it’s really you who’ll be keeping us all on the same page.” It was mostly true anyway, though a bit of flattery never went amiss.

She smiled, not unkindly, and again Thomas couldn’t help but think back to when he’d first gone into service, when he would look on everyone with cold indifference as a sour-faced boy, and receive much of the same in return. “It may be true that I’ll do all I can to ensure that things run smoothly, but I believe you’ll manage perfectly well Thomas. You’ve certainly put the time in.”

“Thank you Mrs Hughes,” he said sincerely, “I mean to give it my best shot.” 

“I should hope so! I’d hate to see all the hard work of both you and Mr Carson go to waste.” She rolled her eyes fondly, “Heaven knows you’ve wanted it long enough.”

The butler had been spending a great deal of time over the last year, though grudgingly at first, teaching Thomas the finer points regarding the art of being a butler. Last week, with many a pained look and slightly awkward handshake, Carson had declared him technically skilled enough to run a house, should he want to. His trip away suggested that he’d meant it – leaving Downton in Thomas’ charge, on paper at least. But the under butler couldn’t help but feel, now that Mr Carson had finally given him the nod, that he was superfluous. He had gone as far as he could go under that roof. Running the house for the next few days was all well and good, but what was he to do after that? It was time for a change, perhaps.  
Many had left in the last few years. Of course the old hats were in it for the duration – Carson and Hughes, and Mrs Patmore, Moseley was still there against all odds, and Thomas was sure he recognised the new footman as an old hall boy. But those who had gone – there was Alfred of course, to be a chef. And Ivy, gone off to America. Daisy would be going soon, no doubt, and Anna was hinting that she wanted to start a family, now that her and Bates were at last left in peace. Miss O’Brien. Then there was Jimmy… 

“Morning Thomas,” Anna interrupted the slightly melancholy direction his thoughts had taken as she and her husband arrived. He replied in kind, and Mr Bates nodded a greeting. God, how things had changed. “How’s James?” said Anna, sitting down as Daisy brought in the remainder of the servants’ breakfast, “we’ve not seen him for a while.”

A question that would have once made his insides jolt and him shoot it’s speaker a suspicious glare now brought nothing but a tight smile. Though he still took care to speak in a low enough tone so that it was only they who heard him. “He’s well enough, thank you.”

“How’s his work treating him?” asked Bates, politely enough, sitting next to his wife.

“It suits him well enough,” said Thomas blandly, taking a slice of toast, “I think he were born to work behind a bar.”

Anna laughed, “He always was a charmer, and no mistake. I can’t believe it’s been a year since he left. There’s more new faces than old at Downton, this past year.”

A couple of maids came in and sat next to Thomas after that, and he was obliged to change the subject. Although some of the (older) staff knew or had guessed at the nature of Thomas and Jimmy’s relationship, and the house in the village they shared the rent of, it was of course still a more or less forbidden topic of conversation, and it wouldn’t do to discuss it within earshot of younger, or more recent and therefore less trustworthy, members of staff. There were already rumours of the secret boy the under butler kept in the village (no matter how hard Mr Carson may try to squash them) and there was no need to encourage it. It could still land them both in prison, should the wrong person dig too deeply.

*

The days of the butler’s absence passed quickly enough. Other than a few members of staff coming down with a mild cold, there was nothing much that didn’t go according to plan. There were no guests, and the family carried on as they ever did.  
The day before Mr Carson was due to return, Thomas was serving tea upstairs. Of course it was a job technically below him, but both footmen were still feeling poorly, and Thomas knew what he was doing better than most. He was only half listening to the family’s chatter as he stood to the side – an old habit borne of a sense of self-preservation. That was, until they said something of potential great importance.

“Tom and I have something of an announcement to make,” said Lady Mary, setting down her teacup. Thomas stilled.

“Oh really?” Lady Grantham smiled vaguely as she looked between them, “nothing bad, I hope.”

“Whatever it is, you’ve certainly kept quiet about it,” said Lord Grantham with a raised brow.

“We… didn’t want to say anything until we were certain,” said Mr Branson, and Thomas stood straighter, trying to look as though he wasn’t purposely listening in. He’d had a lot of practice.

“Well, this certainly sounds very serious,” said Lady Grantham, narrowing her eyes, smile still fixed on her face, “come on, don’t keep us in suspense any longer.”

“I’ll let Mary tell you the details,” Mr Branson said ruefully, “I’ve no doubt she’ll phrase it better than I could.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Lady Mary dryly, “I can’t see that you’d like what we have to say at all, no matter how I phrase it.” If Thomas’ interest hadn’t been piqued already, it certainly was now.

“Spit it out won’t you?” Lord Grantham scratched old Isis behind the ears, “this is sounding more ominous by the minute.”

“Well,” Lady Mary squared her shoulders where she sat, “Tom and I have decided to go away for a little while. With George and Sybbie of course, now that they’re a little older.”

“That doesn’t sound so awful,” said her mother with a frown.

“No, but you see it’ll be rather an extended holiday,” Lady Mary hesitated, “we were thinking a year, at least.”

“A year!” exclaimed Lady Grantham, her cooling tea forgotten. “Where on earth would you go for a year?”

“Spain,” said Lady Mary shortly. “A friend of Edith’s husband’s – that is, of Michael’s –” she corrected herself, “has a place he’s looking to sell out there, apparently. Anyway, he’s agreed to rent it to us, for as long as we’d like, to save him the trouble of selling.”

“But why now?” asked Lady Grantham. “Nothing’s changed, has it?”

“We’ve been talking about it for a while now,” Mr Branson finally spoke up, “neither of us has remarried, and we’ve both been feeling a bit… well, stuck, really. And now the children are a bit older, and we had the news from Edith when we visited her last month…” he shrugged, “it seemed time for a change.”

The phrase lingered in Thomas’ mind. A change…

“But we don’t know anyone in Spain,” Lady Grantham protested, “who would you talk to?”

Lady Mary arched a brow in amusement, “that is rather the point mama; to get away from everyone, and everything, we know, just for a while. We both need it.”

“What about the running of Downton?” Lord Grantham’s question was directed at Mr Branson. “I hesitate to admit it, but I’ve rather come to rely on you.” His son-in-law looked guilty and didn’t answer.

“We can talk about this later,” said Lady Grantham glumly, “your grandmother’s due any minute, and I suppose you’ll want to get every last detail ironed out before you even think of mentioning it to her.”

“Oh do cheer up mama,” said Lady Mary briskly, “it won’t be forever.”

*

Later that afternoon, Thomas was taking five minutes to himself to have a smoke out back. He was alone – none of the other servants smoked any more. Everything was on schedule, so he had the time for it; dinner was started, he’d chosen the wine, and everyone was where they were meant to be. With any luck, at least one of the footmen should be well enough to return to work the next day.  
He’d only been there a minute or so, when something caught his eye in the corner of the yard. 

“Who’s there?” If it were that ruddy hall boy skiving again…

“Only me, you daft bugger,” Jimmy stepped out from under the shadow of the shed roof, hands in his pockets and smirk on his face. Every time Thomas set eyes on him was no less of a wrench than the first. If anything, it got stronger with time.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Thomas said, longing to kiss him hello, but knowing full well the very notion was ludicrous. 

Jimmy shrugged, careful to stop several feet away from him in case someone should happen to come outside or glance through a window, “the pub were quiet, so they told me to take the afternoon. I’m to be back there this evening though. Thought you might fancy a walk before dinner.”

“And leave the house with no butler to speak of?” he said with mock seriousness, “my my, James Kent. Want me to lose my job, do you?”

“Oh give over,” Jimmy rolled his eyes, “as if they’d chuck you. C’mon, just twenty minutes, no one’ll even notice you’ve gone.”

“Thank you for that. I don’t know where everyone gets this idea that you’re so charming from,” he exhaled smoke in Jimmy’s direction, “you’re a right cheeky sod when it comes to me.”

“That’s because you’re special.”

They walked for a time in a shady bit of the garden to the back of the house, with many great thick trees and shrubs with waxy leaves that hid them from view. As such, it was probably safe for them to walk closer together, to let their arms brush as they went. But they didn’t. It wouldn’t do to fall into a false sense of security and get themselves caught after all this time. Rumours were one thing, but physical proof was another entirely. 

“So, how is it Mr Barrow, to be butler of Downton Abbey?” Jimmy smirked sideways at him.

Thomas would have snorted in derision, but such things were beneath him. “Very similar to being under butler of Downton Abbey as it turns out, Mr Kent,” he sucked in another lungful of smoke. “Except that if things fall to pieces, it’s me who gets it in the neck, not Mr Carson.”

“Oh, but you’re far too clever to let things fall to pieces, aren’t you.” Jimmy’s tone suggested it was a joke, though they both knew there was a great deal of truth to it.

“I like to think so.”

“Well, enjoy it all the same. You –” he broke off and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “– you deserve it.”

Thomas couldn’t help but smile softly at Jimmy’s compliment: it was rare for him offer sincere praise. Even after all they had become to each other, Jimmy still seemed to find it hard to give voice to how he felt. “Thank you. Besides, Mr Carson’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, and everything can go back to how it was.” As the words left his mouth he recalled the announcement of Lady Mary and Mr Branson earlier on, and realised that wasn’t quite true. “I heard something quite interesting this afternoon.”

“Oh really,” Jimmy said disinterestedly, plucking a pale pink flower from a rhododendron bush, pulling it apart absently as they walked “what?”

“Lady Mary and Mr Branson are relocating.”

“What?” Jimmy paused in his destruction of the blossom, “what do you mean ‘relocating?’”

“Exactly what it sounds like, you dolt. They want to go to Spain for a while. And if Lady Mary wants something, I expect she’ll get it.”

“Bloody hell,” Jimmy scattered the tattered petals on the grass, “I didn’t see that one coming. I can’t see the place without her.”

“Mmm,” Thomas couldn’t either. Even when he’d first started, and they were both much younger, Lady Mary had seemed immovable, a permanent fixture of Downton’s vast halls. Her marriage to Mr Crawley had only served to strengthen this impression, and now she had her son to inherit the title and the estate… well, Thomas had just assumed she’d always be there. And so had everyone else. “Well, I can’t imagine Mr Carson’ll be too happy to learn his favourite Crawley will be abandoning the family home.”

“I for one, will be glad to see him back.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow at him, “Oh really Jimmy. And why would that be, exactly?”

Jimmy leant close, his breath ghosting Thomas’ ear. “Because it means I can have you sleep in my bed again, Thomas Barrow.”

Thomas was powerless to do anything but turn his head and press a kiss to Jimmy’s lips. It still caught him off guard, when Jimmy was so frank about such things, and it caused such happiness to well up inside him and spill over, that words alone just wouldn’t do. He only prayed the afternoon was too grey and the trees too thick for anyone to spot them. Jimmy was still able to send all common sense dribbling out of his head with only a kiss or a clever word, curse him.

Jimmy walked with him back to the main path leading up to the house. Once there, they were to part ways, Jimmy back down to his evening shift in the pub, and Thomas to oversee the family’s dinner.

“Are you sure you don’t want to pop in and say hello?” Thomas said, only half joking. “The Bateses were asking after you this morning.” 

Jimmy made a face. “Ugh, no. I know they mean well and all, but…” he pressed his lips in a thin line, “I made a fairly clean break with the place. To go back in there now feels a bit too much like backpedalling.” 

“Mm,” Thomas hummed, and reigned in the need to touch Jimmy’s cheek, “I suppose I can see the sense in that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the title because I hated it.  
> This chapter features ridiculously overdramatic Jimmy, and a short paragraph dedicated to Thomas' thighs. You're welcome.

That night, with Mr Carson safely back in residence, Thomas had made the trip back down to the village to spend the night at home. He didn’t usually like to do so more than twice a week, but he’d felt he owed it to himself and to Jimmy, after all the time he’d spent up at the house during Carson’s absence. When he’d arrived at their modest home, Jimmy had been curled up in the overstuffed armchair Thomas had insisted on having when they’d first moved in, and was more or less asleep – though he soon changed his tune when Thomas walked in and suggested they go to bed.   
A while later, the moon was high and lighting their bedroom through the thick window glass. Thomas could have thought up a thousand laboured similes to talk about its brightness, but Jimmy wasn’t always one for pretty words. Instead he lay dozing on his back, with Jimmy sprawled half over him and running his fingers in absent patterns through the hair of Thomas’ chest. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” mumbled Jimmy into the crook of his own elbow, “beds aren’t much to write home about when all there is to do in them is sleep.”

Thomas’ huff of laughter stirred Jimmy’s hair. “How narrow-minded of you. I can think of plenty of things.”

“Mr Barrow, you shock me,” said Jimmy dryly.

“Besides, I don’t know what you’re whinging about,” Thomas wanted a cigarette but they were in his jacket pocket, which was currently downstairs on the kitchen floor, left where Jimmy had peeled it off earlier, “at least you’re able to sleep in a decent bed. I still have to put up with that bloody tiny, lumpy excuse for a mattress most nights. I never realised how bad it was until I could leave it behind.”

Jimmy lifted his head from where it rested to roll his eyes, “now who’s whinging?”

“That’s quite enough out of you,” said Thomas sharply, burying his fingers in the hair at the back of Jimmy’s head to pull him closer, “put that smart mouth of yours to proper use.”

Jimmy was more than obliging, kissing Thomas with such fervency it was as though they hadn’t shared a bed for months, rather than just shy of a week. When they had first wandered hesitantly into the beginnings of a real relationship, Thomas had feared Jimmy would forever shy away from his kisses, somehow scarred by their first ill-conceived one years before. He’d been wrong. Thomas thought that Jimmy always kissed like he had something to prove, which – during those first few weeks – he probably had. But now, he knew better. It was borne of a flattering and somewhat daunting need to be close to him. In short, he kissed as such because he wanted to, and because he could.

Their kiss lost some of its lazy tinge of afterglow, and became instead the heated beginnings of something else. Thomas’ fingers burrowed deeper into Jimmy’s hair, and he parted his legs so Jimmy could lie between them. In turn, Jimmy’s gentle stroking of Thomas’ chest became more insistent, grabbing at his side and blunt nails trailing his skin.   
Thomas unthinkingly rolled his hips up as Jimmy took his bottom lip between his teeth, prompting Jimmy to wrench himself away to kiss down Thomas’ chest, suddenly impatient to move things along. He paused a moment by the jut of Thomas’ hipbone to smirk up at him before moving lower, too low in fact, pressing wet kisses along the inside of his thigh, tongue pressing flat against his skin. Jimmy’s hand went to Thomas’ other leg, grasping and kneading at the thickness of his thigh while his mouth kept busy, sucking a bruise onto the soft skin of the inside of his leg. Jimmy seemed to have a sort of fascination with Thomas’ thighs, a strange but welcome fondness that Thomas would never have expected from anyone, Jimmy least of all.   
Thomas hissed in pleasure-pain at the little nips Jimmy was leaving in his wake, “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, almost to himself, “what on earth would I do without you?”

“Do your right hand a mischief as well as your left, most likely,” said Jimmy, and before Thomas could reprimand him, he took him into his mouth.

It was something Jimmy only ever did when he’d missed Thomas badly, or felt a particular need to please him. He hadn’t said as much, but Thomas was observant enough not to miss a pattern when it came to Jimmy. This in itself suggested that Jimmy didn’t enjoy the act, though after a very awkward and stilted conversation on Thomas’ last birthday, he had discovered this wasn’t the reason at all. It was more that Jimmy didn’t like to do something unless he knew he could do it well. All the assurance in the world from Thomas that his performance was more than satisfactory hadn’t quite yet shaken Jimmy’s doubt in his own ability.   
As Jimmy’s mouth on him was such a rare commodity, Thomas didn’t expect to last very long. He was proven right, when barely minutes later Jimmy was coughing slightly as he swallowed the result of Thomas’ orgasm. 

“Sorry,” he said roughly, as Jimmy smiled ruefully and wiped his chin. 

“I’m not,” Jimmy said equally hoarsely, kicking away the sheets and climbing up to straddle Thomas’ lap, taking himself in hand with a hiss.

“There’s no need to finish yourself,” said Thomas, unable to look away as he reached out, “that’s what I’m for after all. Among other things.”

Jimmy batted his hands away and continued to stroke himself. “I know,” he inhaled sharply at his own touch, “but I’ve barely seen you all week, so just… ugh, let me look at you now… Oh God.”

Thomas was speechless as he watched Jimmy bring himself off to the mere sight of him. He sometimes struggled to believe that this beautiful man was his, and his alone; it was much more than he deserved, or ever expected. Even more remarkable was the way Jimmy was looking at him; hungry, desperate, and with so much love. 

“I wish every night could be like this,” Jimmy said afterwards, boneless and lazy, and lying across Thomas’ chest. “You have to spend so much time up at the house at the moment, it’s as though we don’t live together at all.”

“I know,” Thomas kissed the top of his head, “but we knew it was going to have to be this way.” From the moment Jimmy had told Thomas he loved him, they’d condemned themselves to secrecy, as countless people had before them. “I’m sorry for it, but there’s not much we can do.” Unless they or the world changed, there was nothing.

*

Though Thomas had told no one other than Jimmy about what he’d overheard while serving tea a few days previously, rumours of Lady Mary and Mr Branson leaving had begun to filter down to the servants. Thomas assumed that the members of staff who actually mattered would have heard – Lady Mary would have no doubt confided her plans to Anna, who in turn would have told Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes through a sense of obligation. But the maids and hall boys had started to mutter behind their hands about it now as well. And though Thomas was thankful they were whispering about something other than himself, it was beginning to get on his nerves. The family really should announce it formally to the staff, if only to put an end to childish speculations about the reasons for their wish to leave.   
That afternoon, shortly after the family had been served their tea, Thomas more or less got what he’d wished for. One of the footman (who was potentially named Peter; he was fairly new, and to be honest Thomas didn’t particularly care) told him the family had asked to speak with him upstairs, and right away, if he could spare the time.

“I’m sure I’d still be going up, even if I didn’t have the time,” he muttered, and stubbed out his cigarette. The young footman was still looking at him expectantly as he clutched the dirty tea things, as though unsure what to make of his answer. Thomas raised an eyebrow at him. “What are you waiting for, a speech? Get on with you.” He jerked his head dismissively and the boy scurried away to the kitchen. No doubt he would later be receiving a reprimand from Mrs Patmore for scaring the younger staff. He rose, smoothing down his waistcoat, and made his way upstairs.   
When he got to the library, he found Lord Grantham, Lady Mary, and Mr Branson waiting for him.

“You wanted to speak to me, My Lord,” he said, pulling the door shut behind him, just in case any other staff members happened to share his own tendency for eavesdropping. 

“Actually no, Barrow,” said Lord Grantham with a sigh, elbow resting on the mantelpiece and looking thoroughly disgruntled, “it’s Lady Mary who requested that honour.”

Thomas would have been offended by that, but he had the feeling his lordship’s own sarcasm was lost on himself. “Very well. What can I do for you, my lady?”

“As you may have heard, me and Mr Branson are thinking of relocating,” Lady Mary began briskly, obviously forgetting Thomas had been in the room when they’d made the initial announcement, “to Spain, all being well.”

“Yes, my lady,” no point in denying he knew.

“We’ve rather a favour to ask of you,” Lady Mary continued, holding his eye as she spoke, “the house we’re taking has no staff to speak of, and we don’t want the bother of having to find people to run the place once we arrive.” She hesitated, “and in all honesty, I’d rather they were English.”

“We want to keep things simple when it comes to staffing,” Mr Branson cut in with a brief glance at his sister-in-law, “take a fairly relaxed approach; minimal staff with over-lapping duties.” 

“You sound like Matthew,” Lady Mary shot him a small smile, “but you’re right. Still, no matter how simple we want to keep things, we’re going to need someone to oversee it all. Someone who knows what they’re doing, and someone who knows a good opportunity they they see one,” she raised an eyebrow at him, and not for the first time, Thomas wondered just how much she knew about him. “That’s where you come in, Barrow.”

Thomas was fairly certain he knew what she was asking of him, but it seemed just too much to be real. “Forgive me my lady, but I just want to be clear. You’re asking me to come with you to Spain and run the house for you?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m asking of you. You see, my sources tell me that Mr Carson deems you ready to run a house, and – correct me if I’m wrong – but that must leave you feeling rather superfluous.” 

“Honestly, Mary,” her father muttered disapprovingly. 

“What? Am I wrong, Barrow?”

“Well…” he hesitated, before thinking stuff it, “not entirely my lady, no. As grateful as I am to Mr Carson for teaching me all he knows… that’s just it. There’s no more I can learn from him at Downton.”

“Then do you accept our offer?” 

“I’d be honoured my lady, though I’ll need some time to think it through, if I may,” he said, barely concealing a grin. It was the big change he wanted; a promotion, and a new life all wrapped up neatly for him. But he faltered as he remembered something – someone – he’d failed to take in to account. Jimmy.

“Of course, excellent,” said Lady Mary with an honest smile. “But… is there something wrong?”

“Not at all, my lady,” he hastily mended the gaps in his smile, “there’s just a few things I need to take care of, is all.”

“I understand. Though I think that rather goes for all of us, don’t you?”

*

Thomas slept in the village with Jimmy again that night. He knew Carson probably wouldn’t like it, but if he was to leave Downton soon anyway, it hardly seemed to matter. Jimmy was asleep, breathing deeply and limbs wrapped securely around Thomas, like one of the Dowager’s treasured rambling roses. He’d never known such a clingy sleeper – not that he’d ever had cause to actually sleep alongside many of his lovers, it was usually more of a quick tumble and back to separate rooms – but it remained a valid point. And one he never tired of teasing Jimmy over, no matter how much he secretly adored it. After so many cold nights alone in his pokey bed at Downton, with its metal frame and starched pillowcases, to fall asleep in another’s embrace was one of the most wonderful feelings in the world. But that night, Thomas was finding it hard to drift off, and for once it wasn’t Jimmy keeping him awake. He couldn’t get Spain out of his head. He hadn’t yet found the courage to mention it to Jimmy, and it was eating away at him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it under a rock. Mind made up, he gently shook Jimmy by the shoulder. He would never get to sleep if he didn’t get it off his chest.

“Jimmy? Jimmy, wake up.”

“Ugh,” Jimmy shifted but didn’t open his eyes, “what the bloody hell is it?”

“I – I have to tell you something.”

“But it’s still dark.”

Thomas wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that. “Yes. Yes it is.”

“Can’t it wait ‘til morning?”

“Not really, no.”

“Not throwing me over are you?” said Jimmy groggily, shoving his face further into the pillow. “’Cos that would be bloody inconvenient, you know.”

“No,” Thomas sighed and eased himself into a half-sitting position, earning a glare from a bleary-eyed Jimmy when he jostled him. “No, just – listen. Lady Mary’s moving to Spain.”

“Well bully for her. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“She and Mr Branson are leaving Downton for an extended trip abroad, and – and they’ve asked me to go with them.”

The unimpressed look Jimmy was giving him suddenly became much sharper. “What?”

Thomas took a deep breath in a vain attempt to gather his wits. “They need someone to run the house for them, a butler really, only not quite as black and white as all that. That is, not in quite so strict a way, like things are here. Anyway, Mr Carson says I’m ready for it. And my role in Downton’s running is more for show than anything else. I’m not – not needed. I could have left years ago, really. So… I’m going to go with them.”

Jimmy remained still for a moment, frowning at a fixed point by Thomas’ elbow. Without any warning, he pushed himself sharply away from Thomas and out of the bed.

“Jimmy?” Thomas said uncertainly as the other pulled on the underclothes he’d cast to the floor earlier. “What are you doing?” Jimmy ignored him, instead pulling down a suitcase from the top of the wardrobe, and flinging items of clothing into it at random. “Jimmy,” he repeated, sitting up properly, “what are you–?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing, Thomas Barrow,” he snarled, turning to face him, “I’m packing.” It was only because Thomas knew the nuances of Jimmy’s facial tics so well that he could see the hurt and fear behind the wall of anger. Though he had no idea what he’d done to evoke it, and Jimmy had whirled away again before he had the chance to figure it out.

“Packing?” he said slowly. “Why exactly, if I may ask?”

“Because I can hardly stay here on my lonesome when you bugger off to another country now can I?” Jimmy bellowed, and Thomas almost feared the neighbours might hear them, but the very thought that their opinion should have any effect on his own life disgusted him, and he pushed it away. Now was not the time to start caring what other people thought.

“Jimmy,” Thomas climbed out of bed, thankful he’d kept his own underwear on, “Jimmy, just stop a minute, would you – “ 

“No I won’t bloody stop,” his voice lowered to an angry hiss. “Just tell me Thomas, what was the point, hmm? What was the point of any of it, if you were just going to throw me over now? After all the shit we went through to get here?” He scrubbed a hand angrily over his eyes, “I should have known you’d ruin me.”

Thomas gaped at him, torn between wanting to gather him up in his arms and never let go, and giving him a good slap. “When you’ve quite finished,” he said, bemused and more than a little stung that Jimmy could think so little of him, after all they’d given to each other, “would you just listen?” He shook his head in exasperation, still not sure whether to laugh or cry, “of course I’m not throwing you over, you dozy bugger. As you so vehemently pointed out, I wouldn’t have put you, nor myself for that matter, through all that bloody heartache just to give in now.”

Jimmy blinked at him, uncomprehending, looking as though he might flee at any moment. “What?”

“I want you to come with me, you silly boy. There’s no getting rid of me now,” he clenched his fingers, finally deciding he’d rather hug the idiot than hit him, “we’re in it for the long haul, you and me.”

With a shaky laugh, Jimmy sat slowly in the spindly chair in the corner of the room. “I thought you were leaving me,” he said quietly.

Any anger Thomas may have felt at Jimmy’s outburst was blown away by the look of defeat on his face. Jimmy didn’t like other people to see his emotions, but unfortunately, he was also very poor at hiding them. Thomas crossed the room to kneel on the floor in front of where Jimmy sat, putting one hand on Jimmy’s knee and the other to tilt his chin up, so their eyes met.

“If there’s any doubt in that head of yours about how much you mean to me, Jimmy Kent, then I must be doing something wrong.”

“I know,” he said thickly, “I’m sorry I got so angry, there were no need for it. You said you were going and I just thought –“

“That’s not important,” Thomas gently cut him off, “what is important is this: will you come with me?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops, my brotp is showing.  
> I had more notes, but I forget them. Also, this reminded me I started a pirate AU a couple of months ago HAAAA

Though Lady Mary had been keen to set off for Spain as soon as possible, such things took time and more planning than Thomas assumed she could fathom. She was practical, yes, but not patient, once she got something into her head. You don’t serve someone for ten years and not notice something like impatience. As it was, it was another month after the family’s formal announcement before things really gained momentum. Thomas, along with three or four others that Lady Mary and Mr Branson had selected for their employ, were on their way across the channel to France, where they would then take the train south to Spain. And Jimmy along with them, though he was paying his own way, not being a member of the household.   
The boy (though he was nearing thirty, and Thomas really needed to stop referring to him as such) had been somewhat excited over the fact that they were finally on their way. Far more excited than their pokey cabin warranted, really, especially considering it was only for one night. He’d looked at every bland, functional feature of the ferry as though it were made of rainbows and roses. Grudgingly, he had admitted that the beds were maybe even worse than the ones at Downton, but then who bloody cared, because he was finally on a ship out of England to make his way. So it wasn’t America as he’d always dreamed, but he’d shrugged and smiled when Thomas had pointed out this minor detail, and said it was still better than he’d ever thought he’d get. The romanticism of the moment had led to a session of passionate, and somewhat loud, love-making. It was something to cross off the list – sex on board a boat. (Thomas had come close on his trip to America a few years previously, but regrettably Lord Grantham had been taken ill and needed Thomas’ attentions more than the sous chef in the galley.)   
He should have been feeling satisfied and at peace with his lot, but in all honesty, Jimmy’s enthusiasm over the whole situation had left Thomas feeling rather old. As it was, he’d left Jimmy asleep in the cabin, twisted up in the bed sheets, to go up on deck for a smoke. There wasn’t much of a view though, so late at night. The black sky and black sea were only distinguishable by the white crests of the waves and smudges of yellow lamplight on the water. And it was bloody freezing to boot.

*

Now he was without Jimmy to distract him, his mind wandered back across the sea and to Downton, when he’d said his goodbyes. Of course, as Lady Mary and Mr Branson wouldn’t be leaving for another week or so after him, Thomas wouldn’t witness their parting from the family. But he had endured his own awkward and stilted farewell from the Crawleys. It had been strange, though not particularly saddening, to be leaving them and their home. Saying his goodbyes to the rest of the staff had largely been tedious at best, awkward and irritating at worst. He could see why Miss O’Brien had up and left like a thief in the night. But overall, though trying, his parting words with the rest of the staff had been kind enough, and probably more so than he deserved. Mr Carson had shaken his hand and given him something like a smile, telling him to take all he’d taught him to heart, and above all to take care of Lady Mary, or he’d have him to answer to. Thomas took some sort of peculiar satisfaction in the fact that the butler had to live with the knowledge that the wellbeing of his favourite Crawley was now in Thomas’ hands.   
Even Bates had wished him well. Anna had actually cried, bless her heart, though he wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve such a display of emotion. (He’d initially taken it for granted that Anna would be coming too and remaining a lady’s maid to Lady Mary, but she had elected to give up her work and attempt to start a family.)   
Shockingly, Mrs Patmore had looked a little tearful too, but hid it all behind her usual blustering manner and a hard slap on the shoulder, and an enormous basket full of her finest work to take with him. Mrs Hughes had given him the warmest smile he’d ever had from her, and he was forcibly reminded of all her past kindnesses. He’d made sure to smile in return.

His last words with Daisy had been surprisingly touching. She’d had the afternoon off, and asked him if he had the time to take a quick walk. He was on top of things, as he ever was, so he had an hour to spare for her, and he hadn’t minded taking a last turn about some of the familiar countryside. They’d walked through the windblown grounds and down to the church mostly in silence, and Thomas was starting to wonder why she’d brought him there at all. That was, until they came to a stop by a fairly unremarkable grave.

“I thought you might say goodbye to William as well.”

“Oh.” It hadn’t crossed Thomas’ mind, but he wasn’t adverse to the idea, over-sentimental as it was. “That were thoughtful of you.”

“I don’t come here much,” she said, eyes fixed unseeing on where her short-lived husband was buried, “especially not alone. I don’t like how it makes me feel.”

Thomas inwardly groaned, not wanting to delve into the mess of misplaced feelings that had been Daisy and William, let alone his own role in the sorry affair. “Perhaps you should bring Alfred here with you, one day.”

“You what?” she turned to him, startled.

“I just thought it might help,” he shrugged. “I think the poor lad would’ve wanted to see you happy. And then you can start remembering him with nowt but fondness instead of this funny misplaced guilt, even after all this time, and get on with your life properly.”

She blinked at him, a watery smile creeping onto her face, and oh _God_ not more tears. “You’re a lot nicer than people think you are. I’ve been thinking it for ages, but it’s taken everyone else a while to catch on.” 

“…Thanks.” The love of a vain and infuriating and wonderful ex-footman had probably had a lot to do with his apparent niceness. 

“I’m sad you’re going, Thomas,” she said. “I’m glad you’re moving on to something better, I promise you that, but I’ll not pretend I won’t be sad to see you leave us.”

For the first time since he’d embarked on his tedious list of goodbyes, Thomas felt an embarrassing lump in his throat and something like sadness heavy in his chest. It was a distinct possibility he’d miss the girl more than he’d anticipated. “Thank you Daisy,” he said gruffly, “we’ve worked together over ten years, you and me. So don’t you go worrying I’ll forget you.”

She’d given him a determined, no-nonsense hug, and they’d said no more about it. As they’d headed back through thick yew trees towards the church gate, a much grander headstone than William Mason’s had caught his eye. Hoping Daisy wouldn’t notice, he’d tipped his hat to the grave of the youngest Crawley sister, before following the road back up to Downton for the last time in the foreseeable future.

*

 

Back on the ferry and in the present, and mildly surprised at his own depth of feeling, Thomas flicked the butt of his cigarette into the waters below.

“Wouldn’t happen to have another of those going spare, would you?”

He turned at the voice, slightly annoyed at the intrusion of his solitude, but nodding all the same, and fished his cigarettes from his pocket. “Here.”

“Thanks,” said the man, some crew member or another, going by his clothing. He didn’t ask for a light, but instead stuck the cigarette behind his ear for safe-keeping among dark brown hair. It was then that Thomas saw the request for what is was – a conversation starter. The one-thing-that-would-lead-to-another. He should have known; heck, he’d done the same thing enough times.

“You’re welcome.”

“So, business or pleasure?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, “I beg your pardon?”

He laughed, light and easy. _All the nice girls love a sailor…_ “I’m just curious. People only take the ferry for two reasons don’t they – for work or off on their holidays.”

“Then work, I suppose. I’m in service – a butler.” Technically he’d only ever been under butler at Downton, and his new position with Lady Mary wouldn’t be quite so strict as its title suggested, but he wasn’t going to give up the chance to gild the lily to a handsome stranger.

“My my, a man of importance, I like that,” he said with a suggestive quirk of his lips. “It suits you.”

“So I’ve been told,” Thomas said, carefully neutral.

“I don’t suppose,” the sailor said in a low voice, dark brown curls jostled about in the sea breeze, “You’d do me the honour of keeping me company this evening?”

“Sorry,” said Thomas, though he didn’t entirely mean it, “but I don’t think so.” Though he didn’t regret his rejection of the offer, his doing so made him feel older than ever – he never thought he’d see the day when he’d turn down such an invitation. He never thought he’d be fortunate enough to have cause to.

“Fair enough,” the sailor shrugged with an easy smile, “my mother always said that if you don’t ask, you don’t get.”

“Sensible woman.” 

“That she was.”

They stood for a while in silence, not as uncomfortable as it could have been, leaning on the railings and watching the night. Lulled as he was by the quiet chill of the evening and the smooth rise and fall of the ship, Thomas almost didn’t turn at the sound of footsteps on the deck behind him. But he did, and was greeted by the sight of Jimmy, still half-asleep and pink-cheeked from the cold night. Drowsy as he was, and the deck being mostly in shadow, he hadn’t noticed that Thomas wasn’t alone. 

“Hello love,” he said gruffly, coming to a stop to hug him from behind, arms around Thomas’ middle and chin resting on his shoulder, “what are you sulking up here for?”

Thomas cleared his throat, about to inform Jimmy they were not in fact alone, but the sailor saved him the trouble. He let out a low whistle, causing Jimmy to flinch and jump back away from Thomas, acting on reflex after so long spent with the mantra ‘be careful’ etched onto both their subconscious’. Thomas could see the muscles in Jimmy’s jaw work as he tried to think up some excuse, but he elected to put him out of his misery. 

“It’s alright Jimmy,” he said with half a smile and a hand on his arm.

“Well,” said the sailor, with something akin to admiration, “now I see shy you turned me down. Heck, _I’d_ turn me down, if I had _that_ on my arm.” He smirked, and though it was more conspiratorial than unfriendly, it still rubbed Thomas the wrong way. “Goodnight to you both,” he said with a wink before disappearing below deck down some nearby stairs.   
Naturally, Jimmy took an instant dislike to him.

“What a twat,” he cast a disapproving look at the steps the man had just used, as though it were _they_ that had just propositioned Thomas, rather than the sailor. 

Thomas reached out to pull him closer, and Jimmy fell naturally into his touch. “And you wonder why they all used to call you sour.”

Jimmy dug his elbow neatly into Thomas’ ribs, presumably to wipe the smirk from his face, with the type of precision that only came with practice. Thomas groaned, but moved back from the railing slightly, allowing room for Jimmy to slide in between him and the edge, back pressed to Thomas’ chest and looking out over the black waters. They spent a moment or two in blessed silence, enjoying the contrast of cold ocean air and the warmth of where their bodies met.

“Do you know,” said Jimmy, voice unexpectedly loud after the silence, “the sky looks different out here over the ocean to what it does at home.”

“Does it?” Thomas agreed with him, but was curious to know Jimmy’s reasoning. “How so?” 

“Don’t know,” he felt Jimmy shrug. “Sort of… darker, but brighter? And more stars. Thousands more.”

“Hmm,” and Jimmy had the nerve to call _him_ soppy, the hypocrite, “I think you might be right.”

“Thomas?”

“Mm?”

“It’ll be warmer in Spain, won’t it?”

“If you mean warmer then Yorkshire Jimmy, then yes, I’d say that’s a pretty safe bet.”

“Oh shut up,” Jimmy said flippantly, but tipped his head back to press an awkward kiss to the side of Thomas’ face, just catching the corner of his mouth. 

“Forever, if it gets me a kiss from you.” Jimmy snorted, and Thomas buried his nose in Jimmy’s hair, breathing in the coldness of the night, cigarettes, and the lingering trace of sex. He’d been lucky. So damn unbelievably, and maybe undeservedly, lucky. “Jimmy,” he said quietly, “are you really sure about this?”

“What, about leaving?” Jimmy twisted around to half-look at him, “Of course I’m sure. I’ve been trying to leave this bloody country for years, you know that.”

“I do. I meant with me.”

“Oh.” Jimmy paused, and for one terrible and illogical moment Thomas thought Jimmy was going to tell him it had all been a mistake. Instead, he shifted around so he was facing Thomas properly, back against the rails and hands gripping his elbows. “Thomas, I was happy with you in England. I’m absolutely _thrilled_ to be going somewhere, with you, where the sun actually makes an appearance now and then. Though the weather’s more of a bonus; it’s you I’m here for.”

“Not exactly what I meant, but it’ll do,” Thomas kissed his forehead.

“I love you, Thomas,” said Jimmy with a soft smile, that Thomas suspected he was the only person ever to witness, “so much that I don’t think I could love anyone else again. Now take me back to bed, I’m freezing my bollocks off.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have read this through more lalalalala.  
> Oh well.   
> It's not very long, but I wanted to sort of establish things before I move on, if that makes any sense. Also, my knowledge of Spain, 1920s and otherwise, is pretty poor, sorry.

Thomas was finding Spain rather to his taste. It had been nearly two weeks now since he and Jimmy had left Downton and England behind, and so far, things had gone off without a hitch. He fully intended to make sure it stayed that way. Though Thomas would always have fundamental problems with being in service (Jimmy would roll his eyes and ignore him whenever he got started on the subject of servitude) it was still his job. It was all he could do, and as such he damn well took pride in getting things done properly. Lady Mary, Mr Branson, and the children were due to arrive the following day, and Thomas was busy running a critical eye over the house, ensuring every last detail was perfect before he left for the evening.  
The relaxed nature of the staffing, and the much less grand way in which his employers wished to live while in Spain meant that Thomas was permitted to sleep away from the main house. It was unconventional, but the same could be said for the state of affairs in its entirety. There would of course be the odd night where it was necessary he stay – if the family were entertaining, for example – but on the whole, Thomas suspected he’d be more his own man than he ever had before. This freedom surprised him, particularly in Lady Mary’s case, but she had seemed very keen that she and Mr Branson, and the children, managed on occasion to ‘fend for themselves,’ as she’d put it when initially going over his duties with him. He’d nodded politely, and secretly wondered how long it would last. Of course he was in no position to complain; however short term this fortunate position may be.  
Though he was not required to sleep in the main house, Lady Mary did not deem it fair he should have to cover his own living expenses elsewhere while he was under their employ. She said it wasn’t proper. Therefore, as his employers, Lady Mary and Mr Branson would be paying rent on a nearby house in town on his behalf. (Thomas wasn’t sure how paying for their butler’s lodgings fitted into their vision of a simpler life, though he wasn’t about to tell them that.) It felt a little too much like charity for him to be entirely comfortable, but there wasn’t a lot to be done about it without causing offence. This meant that, with his and Jimmy’s incomes put together, and no rent to pay, they lived quite comfortably. And perhaps to excess sometimes, owing to Thomas’ expensive taste in certain areas, Jimmy’s in just about everything, and Thomas’ inability to tell him ‘no.’

Thomas, finally satisfied that every inch of the airy, spacious villa was gleaming; the floor tiles clean enough to eat his dinner off and every surface free of dust, locked up for the evening. By his watch, it was now just after seven, but still easily light enough to see by, everything in shades of orange casting long shadows, and utterly unreal. Cliché as it was, he felt as though he were in a particularly flowery novel.  
He slung his jacket over his shoulder, being far too hot to actually wear it, and began the short walk down the hill into town. The villa which the family were renting sat amid gentle slopes of rocky scrub and grass land, dotted with surprisingly vibrant wildflowers and the odd twisted tree. Being high up as it was, the sky seemed open and endless, rather than the oppression of the heavy grey cloud Thomas had come to associate with England. The town that lay below appeared distant, a sprawling mass of white walls and red roofs, though in reality the walk took only fifteen minutes. He reached the edges of the town, dusty path giving way to the cobbled streets, and chalky white walls lit orange with evening sun. The Spanish sun was different to the English sun; it was rich and heavy in its heat, washing everything in reds and oranges and golds. It suited Jimmy’s complexion immensely well. In comparison, his memories of English summertime seemed thin and weak, the sun pale and never quite warming you all the way through.  
Making his way deeper into the town through the narrow, high-walled streets, Thomas passed the house he and Jimmy rented. In itself it was small and unremarkable, just the same as the homes to either side of it, but to Thomas, it was a symbol of a new freedom and happiness he never thought he’d be fortunate enough to obtain. He smiled and looked up to their upstairs window, thinking fondly of their bed Jimmy had no doubt neglected to make before he left for work that afternoon.

Unsurprisingly, Jimmy had talked his way into getting himself a job. Thomas suspected it might have had more to do with Jimmy’s handsome face and the eagerness of his new employer to learn proper English, than anything he’d actually said. The point was that, once again, Jimmy had landed on his feet, much quicker than most people would have. But it meant that Jimmy was kept entertained and had money in his pocket, so naturally, Thomas was pleased. The bar, el Unicornio, was small compared to most of the other establishments of the town had to offer. But – though it was by no means official – it seemed to draw in men of ‘their type,’ and as long as his patrons were discreet, Eduardo, the owner, was more than welcoming. Thomas still didn’t like him much though; he smiled at everybody.  
The pale paint on the front of the building was flaking in places, like dead skin, though the interior was considerably better. It was dated, but not unpleasant. And surprisingly clean, which Thomas counted as desirable for anywhere in which he’d be drinking. The chairs and tables were mainly old scrubbed wood, with a few lawn chairs of swirling metal painted white, that were more suited to outdoor use. There was a large, thick-leafed pot plant in the corner, even taller than Alfred, and a positively ancient gramophone along with a few equally dated records. There was red cloth hung over the windows, making the light inside dim and rich. It smelt perpetually of red wine, which didn’t really bother Thomas, and was usually full of cigarette smoke, which bothered him even less.

The moment Thomas set foot in the bar and set the bell above the door tinkling, every pair of eyes slid in his direction. He would’ve liked to have said it was pure human curiosity that made them look, but it wasn’t. It was a reflex built from fear. This particular place may have been safer for ‘their sort’ than some, but nowhere was ever really safe. They all had to be on their guard to keep out of trouble; they looked out for each other, when they could. It was the sort of thing that had no language barrier. Thomas nodded a vague greeting and smiled tightly before making his way to the bar. Recognising him, and seeing he was in fact not the police or some troublemaker, the dozen or so men went back to their smoking and cigarettes, one or two giving him a wave.  
Jimmy was busy serving, pouring a glass of red wine for a customer who was trying to make small talk with a mix of broken English and hand gestures. 

“In English, it’s called ‘wine,’” Jimmy said irritably, enunciating the last word slowly and tapping the bottle with his finger. 

“Ah, si si,” the man nodded, “I… err,” he touched his hand to his temple, “I… recuerdo.”

“Errr, you remember?” 

“Aha! Yes!” The Spaniard grinned triumphantly, “recuerdo. I remember. Wine!” he lifted his glass in a toast to Jimmy, before re-joining his companions around a table. Good. Thomas couldn’t be arsed to put up with their silly requests all evening. More specifically, he wasn’t keen on those who lingered longer than necessary, and offered to buy Jimmy a drink in return for his time. Fortunately, Jimmy always seemed just as unimpressed with this as Thomas. 

“Right,” Jimmy smiled unenthusiastically, waving the man off. Word had apparently spread concerning the Englishman who had started working the bar, and young men keen to improve their English (or American, as they called it) tried to sneak in a crafty language lesson each time they ordered a drink. As it was, both Thomas and Jimmy managed to get by with a limping hybrid of broken Spanish and English, and a lot of pointing. Apparently Spanish was not so suited to a Northern English accent. 

“Evening,” Thomas said as he approached the bar.

Jimmy’s face was instantly less sour, “hello, love.” Thomas leant over the bar to give him a kiss hello, and oh God how wonderful to be able to do so in semi-public. “How are things up at the big house? All ready for the royal arrival?” he added with a mocking twist of his mouth. 

“Just about, I think,” Thomas lifted himself onto a barstool, “I’m fantastic at my job, if I do say so.”

“Mmm, and so modest along with it,” Jimmy poured them both a small glass of wine. With his unintentional English lessons keeping young men keen to better themselves in the bar (and buying drinks) longer, Eduardo tended to look the other way if Jimmy fancied the odd drink himself.

“Look who’s talking.”

They passed the next hour or so as they had done most evenings since their arrival; enjoying the easy atmosphere of the bar, discussing the ups and downs of their days, Jimmy complaining about the heat, and savouring the simple pleasure of being able to clasp hands on the table top without fear of persecution. This was punctuated by the inevitable interruption of patrons ordering drinks, and asking how to say ‘train’ or ‘money’ or pay someone a compliment in English. Thomas would say that if they were anything like him, the recipient of their affection would very much enjoy to hear the terms of endearment in Spanish, rather than a clumsy attempt at English. 

“Gracias,” said one such customer, knocking back the whiskey Jimmy’d poured for him smoothly, and setting the empty glass down on the counter. He hesitated, and Thomas knew exactly what was coming next. Honestly, he and Jimmy should start charging for their services. “How I say, I want…” he broke off, thinking, and mimed ballroom dancing with himself. “Bailar?”

“Ah, dancing,” said Jimmy with a smile. “My area of expertise, I think, Mr Barrow.”

“If you say so, love.”

“I do,” Jimmy replied, coming out from behind the bar. “Listen,” he said to the man who’d asked, “like this: ‘may I have this dance?’ Now you.”

“May I have this dance?” he repeated after Jimmy, and Thomas was almost certain a Spanish voice speaking English was much more attractive than vice versa. 

“Just like that,” Jimmy nodded his approval. “Now watch,” he turned his attention to Thomas, who was still perched on the barstool, bowing slightly and extending his hand, “may I have this dance?”

Thomas was never one for making a spectacle where it could be avoided, but with the old gramophone records playing haltingly in the corner, and Jimmy’s eyes looking up at him in invitation, it was too good a chance to miss. Saying nothing, Thomas took Jimmy’s hand and slid from the stool. They feel easily into step with one another; though they couldn’t often dance together in public, they often did at home. It was something they both enjoyed, Jimmy in particular, and so they’d spent many an evening doing the one-step around their living room, furniture pushed to the edges out of the way. (They’d had arguments in the beginning over who should lead – Thomas had won out in the end purely because he was taller.)  
The dance they were doing now was nothing in particular, though Thomas supposed the closest thing to it would be the tango. It wasn’t nearly so dramatic though. They danced slowly, to fit the tempo of the music, backs straight and chests pressed together, so close they were feeling the next step rather than just thinking it. Thomas may not have been one for putting on a show, but Jimmy certainly was, if the mood took him. He was looking at Thomas like he did when they went to bed together and he had something special planned – like he was going to eat him. Thomas kept his hand light on the small of Jimmy’s back, feeling the stretch and sway of his body as they danced, keenly aware of Jimmy feeling him in a similar manner. As the song hit a particularly drawn out note, Jimmy raised an eyebrow in challenge, leaning the top half of his body back but tilting his hips forward and into Thomas’, and it was only the latter’s many years of practice at keeping a straight face and perfect composure that stopped him dropping Jimmy in surprise. Almost before Thomas had time to recover, Jimmy was upright again, but even closer than before; the side of his face resting against Thomas’ and his breath tickling his ear. Thomas breathed in the smell of Jimmy’s hair – admittedly it smelt of drink and cigarettes and essentially the same as the bar – and watched out of the corner of his eye as two or three other couples followed their example and stood to dance, boots heavy on the floorboards. Thomas unintentionally thought back on all the times he’d stood to attention on the edges of a ballroom, watching rich men and simpering ladies dance the waltz, for once thankful that he wasn’t high born enough to have to go through all that pomp and charade. Things had worked out just fine for him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably doesn't sound like it's going anywhere much, but it is, I promise you.  
> How did I get the word count so perfect, WTF.

It had been over a month now, and Jimmy still wasn’t used to just how terrifically hot it could get. He certainly enjoyed it – he’d spent several afternoons basking in the sun, and despite the short time he’d been doing so, his hair had already gotten lighter and his skin darker, little freckles springing up across his arms. When he’d first noticed this, after studying himself in the mirror for even longer than he usually allowed in the mornings, he wasn’t been sure if he liked it. But then Thomas had told him he looked beautiful and kissed a freckle on his shoulder, and Jimmy decided it rather suited him. The heat was tolerable if there was nothing to do but lay about in it, as was often the case due to the habit the locals had of taking a break in the hottest part of the afternoons, but today he was walking up to the big house, to see how Thomas was getting on. Well, in all honesty, he was bored and keen to nose about the house a bit more, but he would cite missing Thomas as an excuse if it came up. He was squinting against the sun, hair sweat-damp and stuck to his forehead, when he finally entered the grounds.  
To his vague awkwardness, he saw that Lady Mary and Mr Branson were seated outside the front of the house under the shade of a large tree, Master George and Miss Sybbie playing on the parched grass at their feet. He’d have to walk directly past them to get around to the back of the house… Jimmy wasn’t quite sure what the correct social etiquette would be in this situation. Technically, they were his social superiors, and he was no longer a member of their staff, and therefore on paper, trespassing on their property. Not that he was too bothered by technicalities. Either way, he thought it best not to stop and chat, for goodness sake. Lady Mary seemed to have other ideas. 

“James,” she called, loud and clear enough that he couldn’t possibly ignore her, “do come and say hello. I thought I wanted to escape Downton entirely, but I find I still crave little things that remind me of it, occasionally. A familiar face is a comfort.”

“Well I’m… glad to be of some use then, my lady,” he stood by their chairs, somewhat awkwardly, and feeling like he should be holding a tray. 

“Hello, James.”

“Sir,” he gave Mr Branson a polite nod.

“How are you finding Spain?” the ex-chauffeur asked pleasantly, “I must admit, I’m finding the heat a struggle.”

“I like it very much,” he said, truthfully, thinking of the tiled floor of his and Thomas’ bedroom, the blue glass ashtray by the bed that was always overflowing, and the red flowers in a window box of the house opposite, “but I agree, it doesn’t half get hot in the afternoons.” 

“I find I rather like it,” said Lady Mary, eyes closed and taking a deep breath, “though the children constantly complain of being too hot.” She looked fondly at her son and niece sprawled out on the grass, and Jimmy wondered what on earth the British would talk about if not for the weather.

“Are they missing home?” he asked politely, though in his opinion, they looked happier, freer, and more like children should, than they ever had at Downton. 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Lady Mary said with half a smile, “little George is still too young to appreciate the change, really. Though Sybbie does ask from time to time when she can see her grandparents again. But I think she has enough of home with her to keep her happy; with her cousin to play with, and Tom and me. And she’s formed rather an attachment to Barrow,” she said with amusement and a glance in his direction, “it reminds me of how I was with Mr Carson, when I was a girl.” She looked so wistful and lost in memory, that Jimmy didn’t like to say anything to jolt her out of it. But she stirred herself after a moment or two, and poured herself a drink from the jug on the little table next to her. “So,” she said, taking a sip, “you’re Barrow’s boy now, I suppose.” 

He flinched, probably visibly, and Mr Branson choked on his lemonade but had the grace not to comment. What on earth had possessed her to say something so blunt? And, more to the point, what the bloody hell was he meant to say back? Of course, things were a bit different now, over here, but it was hardly an appropriate conversation one had with an ex-employer. And his ‘boy?’ Jimmy’s pride bristled at that; it made it sound degrading and perverse. “I… wouldn’t quite put it like that, my lady.” 

“Of course not, I am sorry,” she said, slightly sheepish, before carrying on as boldly as she had before, in a matter-of-fact sort of way that reminded Jimmy very much of the dowager. “We all knew about him, anyway. You came as a little more of a surprise.” The conversation was getting more daunting by the second. Jimmy wasn’t sure what to say, so kept quiet. He was a little panicked (and embarrassed) that she knew about his… tastes, but it was an easy enough thing to guess he supposed, given that he’d moved all the way out here in order to stay with Thomas. But the old, hard, and almost dead seed of fear of his own desires briefly stirred all the same. “You live with Barrow in the village, do you not?” 

“Yes, my lady,” he feared where this was going, “I work in a bar, close by,” he added in hopes of changing the subject.

“I see,” she said, smiling conspiratorially, though he couldn’t say why, “and the work suits you?”

“Very much, thank you.” Thank God, it worked. 

“Glad to hear it,” she set down her empty glass. “Well, Barrow should he around the back of the house somewhere,” she said, settling back in her chair, “do feel free to go and look him out. We can manage ourselves for an hour or two.” 

That’s what I were planning for goodness sake, he thought, “very good, my lady,” He nodded, feeling every inch the footman again, “good afternoon.” 

“Good afternoon, James,” said Mr Branson with a small smile. 

“Sir.”

“And James,” she said, eyes closed against the sun, “thank you for humouring me. And I’m glad you’re happy, truly.”

He didn’t reply, amused but mostly irritated that she’d managed to catch him out so many times. The look on Mr Branson’s face suggested he knew the feeling. 

*

Thomas was indeed at the back of the house, shirtsleeves rolled up and jacket set aside, and what on earth would Mr Carson say if he could see the state of undress his precious Lady Mary’s butler was currently working in. Jimmy blew the hair from his eyes and went over to where Thomas was standing, in the cool arch of the back doorway, talking to a small group of people. Other members of staff, Jimmy supposed.

“Hello,” Jimmy announced himself as he approached. 

Thomas turned, smiling with his eyes but keeping his mouth perfectly still – a by-product of years spent keeping a straight face, Jimmy supposed. It was something he did every time he saw him, that Jimmy strongly suspected he didn’t even know he was doing. “Afternoon.” Jimmy’s fingers twitched by his side, the reflex to kiss Thomas hello giving him pause. Thomas himself, gave nothing away. “These lads all work in the house, or the grounds,” he jerked his head at the three Spanish men he’d been talking to. “Lads,” he said to them, “this is Jimmy.”

Jimmy gave them all a quick once over, not particularly interested in making their acquaintance. It wasn’t like he had to work with them, after all. “Hello,” he repeated, not sure how much English they spoke. It was a mistake he’d made before. 

“Buenos tardes,” said the eldest with a curt nod. He was dressed more smartly than the other two, so Jimmy thought it safe to assume he worked in the house. The second said nothing, merely smiled vaguely, and went back to picking earth from under his finger nails. The gardener, then. 

The final man, probably around the age of Jimmy himself, narrowed his eyes at him a little, and glanced between him and Thomas as though he were trying to figure something out. Jimmy didn’t like it. But he shook this off quickly before Jimmy had the time to think much on it, and held out a hand to him. “Hello.”

“This is Alvaro,” Thomas said as the two shook hands, reluctantly on Jimmy’s part, “he speaks pretty good English. Lady Mary’s roped him in to train the rest of the staff up a bit.”

“That’s right. And my brother works in the stables here also,” Alvaro said in heavily-accented but perfect English, with a sort of big, overly-friendly smile that Jimmy associated with people who were a bit too pleasant for their own good.

“Right,” said Jimmy, unimpressed, “well, it was… nice to meet you,” he said with thinly veiled sarcasm, before turning smartly so he was facing Thomas, his back to the others in clear dismissal. “Could I have a word with you, Mr Barrow? Alone,” he added pointedly. He just wanted to spend some time with Thomas, his patience was wearing thin and he couldn’t be bothered to censor himself. He had better things to do than exchange pleasantries with blokes who probably didn’t even know what he was saying. And it was just so damn hot.

There was a beat of silence in which Thomas and Alvaro blinked at him, before the Spaniard smiled that too-nice smile (in a way that reminded Jimmy of Anna, though he’d actually quite liked her, on occasion) and said something in rapid Spanish to the other two. “We have things to do,” he said apologetically, as though it were he that’d been rude, not Jimmy, “good afternoon.” He nodded, and made his way down the slope towards were Jimmy assumed the stables were located.

“Well that were rude, Jimmy,” said Thomas as the others dispersed and went back to their duties. But he sounded amused; Jimmy had learnt the hard way to listen out for the slightly different inflection Thomas put on his words when he wasn’t serious. It had led to many silly misunderstandings and quarrels in the past, before he’d figured it out. 

He shrugged, “I’ve said worse.”

“Mm, don’t I know it.”

Jimmy’s shirt was stuck to his skin from the damp and uncomfortable layer of sweat across his back and shoulders, and it was suddenly impossible for him to put up with it any longer. “Thomas, I’m bloody hot. Let’s go swimming.” 

“What?” Thomas blinked at him, eyes wide, and Jimmy felt a small twinge of pleasure in the fact that he still had the ability to surprise him. “We can’t, the family are home. I know they’ve said I can use the pool, but it’s pushing things a bit, don’t you think?” 

“They won’t know,” Jimmy said, already dragging Thomas towards the small outdoor swimming pool, half hidden behind the walls of the house and tangled climbing plants. “They’re out the front, drinking lemonade and –“ he’d been about to say ‘and quite possibly discussing our sex life’ but thought better of it “– whatever it is they do. And they never use it anyway.”

“That’s not true!” Thomas countered weakly, “Mr Branson had Miss Sybbie in there only last week.”

“Well they’re not in there now, are they?”

“But we haven’t got bathing suits –“ 

Jimmy scoffed, “well it’s lucky I like looking at your cock then, isn’t it, or we might just have a problem on our hands.”

Thomas glared at him, but, to Jimmy’s satisfaction, he started to strip, dropping his clothes in an uncharacteristically haphazard pile by the edge of the pool. “You’re ridiculous, and quite frankly, I’m amazed you didn’t get the pair of us sacked or worse years ago.”

“Hey!” Jimmy shrugged his shirt off and hit Thomas with it. “I did nearly get you sacked, once. Give me credit where it’s due.”

Thomas stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s not meant to be a good thing, Jimmy.”

“Just get in the bloody pool would you?” Jimmy was tired of talking, and kicked his underwear off, jumping into the deep end of the pool. For a moment the world was lost. His ears were full of echoes, eyes tightly shut and breath held against the cool water engulfing his body. But then it was gone, and he was above water again, the air thin and far too hot after the heavy coolness of the world under water. He glanced over to the water’s edge, just in time to see Thomas slip in at the shallow end, relief evident on his face as the cool water met his skin. Jimmy wished he could become fluid himself in order to surround him, to lick and lap across every inch of that body.  
Smirking, he took a deep breath and ducked back under the water, propelling himself forwards towards Thomas. Under the pulsing green-blue of the pool water, he slid his hands softly up Thomas’ thighs, feeling him tense at the contact. Prone to teasing, Jimmy avoided his cock entirely, placing the flat of his palms briefly over Thomas’ backside, then further up, to splay over his soft stomach. Unable to hold his breath any longer, Jimmy surfaced, still smirking and with water dripping in his eyes. 

“Cheeky sod,” Thomas murmured, his face pink in a way that most likely wasn’t from the heat, as he leant back against the tiles of the pool’s edge. 

“But you love me,” he said smugly. Jimmy never tired of hearing Thomas say it. He knew it – every touch, every word spoken, every look exchanged was filled with it – but he still revelled in hearing it all the same. He wasn’t afraid to admit he enjoyed having his ego stroked. Though he knew, and Thomas often told him as such, that he lost much of the unpleasantness he exhibited towards other people when the two of them were alone, he couldn’t give it up entirely. 

“Regrettably,” Thomas sighed dramatically, and kissed his wet hair. Jimmy dug him in the ribs in retaliation and darted away, making sure to splash Thomas in the face as he went. 

*

Twenty minutes and a good deal of accidentally inhaled water later, they lay together at the shallow end of the pool, throats sore from the water and too much laughter, fingertips starting to wrinkle from staying submerged overlong.

“Do you remember, year before last, when we went to the seaside?” Jimmy said, opening his eyes and promptly wincing at the brightness of the sun.

Thomas looked at him like he was dim. He did that a lot; he either looked at Jimmy as though he’d hung the moon, or like he was a bit slow. “’Course I do. My memory’s not going yet, I’m not quite that old, thank you.” 

“We played football with the hall boys. Bloomin’ cheats, the lot of ‘em.” 

“You only say that because you’re bad at it.”

“Alright! Just because you’re wonderful at everything.” He’d meant it to be sarcastic, but it came out much more sincerely than he’d planned.

“Mmm. We couldn’t have gone swimming then though,” he said wryly, and Jimmy could hear the twist of amusement in his voice. “It might have put me in an unfit state for company, seeing you so undressed.”

“Why Mr Barrow, I can’t think what you might be suggesting.”

“I can show you, if you like,” Thomas whispered into Jimmy’s neck, breath warm on his damp skin.

“I wanted to kiss you so badly that day, you know,” Jimmy said abruptly.

He felt Thomas go still behind him. “That’s… that’s news to me.”

“That’s ‘cause I haven’t told you before, you daft bugger,” he said roughly. It was true; Thomas had looked so forlorn that afternoon, sitting by himself in the sand, squinting into the sun, and lips chapped with the heat and salty air. “It was before I really knew…” he hesitated. He had been going to say it was before he really knew what he wanted with Thomas, but that wasn’t quite true. He’d known exactly what he wanted, but was too much of a bloody coward to admit it. So he’d done nothing. “C’mon, let’s get out. My skin’s starting to go funny.”

*

“I’d marry you, if I could,” Thomas said out of the blue later on as they lay on the warm tiles beside the pool, the temperature starting to become more bearable as the afternoon wore on. 

“And who says I’d have you?” Jimmy said, running his fingers lightly over Thomas’ drying skin. 

“I wouldn’t take no for an answer. Not now.”

“Mmm. It’s funny though, isn’t it.”

“What is?”

“You grow up with this certainty… even when you’re starting to get older and know more of the world, and chasing girls just for the fun of it, that one day, you’ll find a special one – “

“I never felt that.”

“ – find a special one,” or at least one he could tolerate better than the others, he wasn’t so naïve as all that, “get married, and have kids. Just like everybody has before you.”

An old doubt flared up in Thomas’ face then before he could smother it, and it pained Jimmy to see it. “I’m afraid I can’t give you that.”

“No,” said Jimmy, propping himself up on his stomach, tiles hard under his elbows, “I’m not saying that’s what I want, ‘cause I don’t. Just that’s it’s all I ever expected to get.” 

“Oh. And is this better, or worse?”

“Both. I don’t have to pretend to love some girl, and spend my days longing for something I don’t understand. But I do have to pretend I don’t love you. And I always thought, that if I did love someone, I wouldn’t have to lie to people about it.” 

Thomas blinked at him, half-wet hair in his eyes. “I can’t believe there was ever a time I thought you shallow, Jimmy Kent.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: You remember Eduardo from last chapter? Well, I decided I didn’t want him to be called that, so his name is now Alvaro, I’ve edited the last chapter accordingly. Hope that doesn’t mess anyone up too much.  
> I have sooo many misgivings about this chapter, but I’ve read through it so many times I’m no longer that bothered.   
> Also, this chapter includes my wine-fuelled riding crop adventure, so if you don’t like the concept of spanking, I suggest you avoid the second half. It’s not as intense as I would have liked, but still.

It was nearing four o’clock in the afternoon, and Jimmy was still in bed. Thomas had left hours ago to go to work, but Jimmy had lacked the motivation to rise himself. He wasn’t due at the bar for hours yet, so there was no real need anyway. He was warm but not uncomfortably so; a cat sunning itself without a care for consequence. His naked limbs were heavy with the heat, loosely covered by the bed sheets and still smelling faintly of the lazy, unhurried sex he and Thomas had indulged in that morning. Thankfully Thomas had taken charge – Jimmy wasn’t usually at his best first thing in the morning. If there were one thing he had to pick above all others that he didn’t miss about life in service, it was the early starts.   
He was still drowsy after his lazy afternoon in bed, though as the hours wore on he started to feel irritated and shut off, and suddenly desperate to get out of the empty house. He pulled on some clothes, and took a minute (or ten) to smooth his hair into something more presentable, before walking further into town, meandering through the streets with the sun in his eyes.  
It wasn’t until he was nearing the centre of town, and houses began to give way to little cafes and bars just starting to open up again for the late afternoon and into the evening, that Jimmy realised he didn’t really have anything planned for when he got there. He didn’t care to drink alone any more (and probably shouldn’t when he knew he had to work later) there was nothing he needed to buy, and he never had been the sort to spend hours browsing and window shopping for things he didn’t want. But still, it was a relief to be out of the house. Sticking to the cool shadows cast by the mottled white buildings, he wound his way through the slightly quieter side streets, with the mind-set that, if nothing else, it might prove useful to get to know the quieter parts of town better. Thomas was always saying the town was lovely, and pointing out this or that architectural or historic feature, but to Jimmy, it were all just bricks and mortar. He stuck his hands in his pockets and turned a corner, walking past a tiny café he never would have noticed if it weren’t for the man sitting outside it that smiled and waved at him. Jimmy drew nearer, slightly apprehensively. Though a few of the locals who lived nearby or frequented the bar now recognised he and Thomas, and would throw a cheery nod or wave in their direction, this was still unusual. As he neared the table though, he realised who it was.

“Oh, hello,” he tried to keep the unfriendliness out of his voice, “Alvaro… isn’t it?”

“Buenos tardes,” the young man smiled warmly, “I thought it was you. And please, call me Al,” he rose to shake Jimmy’s hand. He took it, reluctantly, and wondered what on earth he’d done for this man he’d met only once before to be so… nice. “Will you join me, Senor Kent?”

“Jimmy,” he corrected automatically, then kicked himself for allowing this ninny the intimacy.

“Jimmy,” Alvaro repeated, and gestured towards to other chair, “please, I insist.”

“I…” Jimmy hesitated, not really wanting to spend the next hour or so in the company of a man he barely knew, but suspected he would find infuriatingly nice and in general a bit of a bore on closer inspection. But then, he had nothing better to do. “Alright,” he agreed, and sat heavily in the spindly chair. 

Alvaro nodded his approval and smiled even wider (did he ever bloomin’ stop?) He called out to the man inside the café in Spanish too quick for Jimmy to follow, though judging by the easy tone and laughter that came with it, he’d guess they were friends. Though he strongly suspected Alvaro was friends with everybody, cheery sod. Moments later, the café owner brought out a jug of lemonade, for which Jimmy was grateful – it was too bloody hot for coffee.   
Small talk was not something Jimmy enjoyed. Other people’s mundane daily struggles were not of interest to him at all. Flirting was different; that was a game, the thrill of the chase, and revelling in the pretty blushes it brought to girls’ cheeks when he did so. In fact, he was fairly sure the drivel involved when flirting was more interesting than exchanging pleasantries. Alvaro proved to be no exception, and he was an idiot to boot. Well, not an idiot in the sense that he was stupid – English was his second language after all, and he seemed to speak it better than Jimmy – but in the sense that he was overly pleasant and attentive, in the sort of way the late Matthew Crawley had been. 

“So,” began Al, after a brief discussion about what brought them both into town that day (Jimmy was thankful at least it wasn’t a Spanish habit to harp on about the weather) “Senor Barrow says you used to work for Lady Mary also. Is that right?”

“Yes,” though it’s none of your business, “or for her family, really.”

“Ah, si. And what did you think of her?” he said earnestly, as though it were his aim to befriend her rather than find out whether his new position was secure. Though Jimmy probably would have done the same in his place; he knew the value of trying to get ahead.

“I don’t think I know her well enough to really say,” he’d been her servant, not her bloody brother, “but she seems happier out here than she did back at home, after her husband snuffed it.”

“Err… Snuffed it?” Alvaro wrinkled his nose at the expression.

“Oh. Umm, died.”

“Ah, of course. Sorry.”

“No harm done,” he shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t work for her anymore, so it’s not my place to say. She pays your wages now, so I’m told, so what do you make of her?”

Alvaro pursed his lips for a moment, clearly not wanting to speak ill of the one putting money in his pocket. Though Jimmy sincerely doubted the man could say anything bad about anyone. “I think… she is a good person. Or fair, at least. As you say, I do not know her well enough, really. But I think we will get on well – she has the sense to get her workers speaking some English, so she must be practical. Surely a good thing in any employer.” Jimmy had no more to say on the matter, because frankly, he didn’t really care. He just nodded vaguely and sipped his drink. “And you?” Al continued, “all this must be quite a change.”

“It is,” said Jimmy honestly, “but we’re getting on alright.”

“And the town is to your liking?” Jimmy was getting sick of the silly pleasantries. “You’re finding places to pass the time? To eat, to drink, and to dance?”

“There’s a couple of places, yes.” Nosey. Jimmy was halfway to telling him to mind his own, but Thomas would probably be less than pleased with him for mouthing off to his new colleagues.

“That’s good,” Alvaro leaned back in his chair with a silly, sleepy smile, “it’s good to have a place to go. There’s a little bar I like not too far from here, though I haven’t been able to get there for a while. I’ve been kept busy up at the house.”

“Is that so?” Jimmy said disinterestedly, watching a little bird hop about on the uneven paving slabs.

“Yes. It’s a strange little place, quiet and full of candlelight, with red drapes in the windows. You may not have noticed it.”

Jimmy snorted, recognising the description of the bar. “I have.”

“Oh?” he tilted his head like a puppy, “then what is funny?”

“I work there.”

Instead of looking surprised as Jimmy would have expected, Alvaro just nodded as though Jimmy had confirmed something he already knew. “I see. Then I think it is safe to say we, ahh, understand, more about each other now.”

Oh.   
So they both liked men. That didn’t mean Jimmy had to like him. “I suppose so,” he said grimly. It was almost laughable, how quickly he had willingly admitted to someone he barely knew and certainly didn’t like, the part of himself he had once kept a secret and feared the most. But then, as Thomas had told him many times, their sort stuck together. Not often through choice though. They may not like it, but it was safer, and almost freeing, once you knew where other people stood.

“Forgive me if I am being rude,” Alvaro leant forward, eyes large and voice low, though there was no one about and Jimmy suspected the café owner wouldn’t object to the content of their conversation, “but am I right in saying that you and Senor Barrow…?”

“Yes,” said Jimmy sharply, partly because he didn’t want to hear the end of the sentence, and partly because he didn’t want this idiot to get any ideas about having a go with Thomas. He’d seen them talking the other day; Alvaro hanging on to Thomas’ every word and gifting him with his big, soppy smiles. Bastard. 

“I apologise,” said Alvaro, noticing Jimmy’s sudden prickliness, and at once moving to placate him, “I only wanted to be certain. I did not mean anything by it.”

“I – sorry,” mumbled Jimmy, though he didn’t really mean it. The other man nodded graciously, dark curls falling in his eyes, and Jimmy was about ready to punch him in the mouth. In fact, he thought he should probably leave, before the ninny said something that made him follow the idea through. “I have to get going,” he said as he stood, “thanks for the drink and… stuff.”

“You’re welcome,” Alvaro beamed, holding out a hand that Jimmy once again reluctantly shook, “I’ll be seeing you again soon, Senor Kent.”

Jimmy nodded and tried to smile, though it probably wasn’t very convincing, before making his way back towards the edges of town. The talk with Alvaro had left him grumpy and unsettled, and he decided to go up to the house and see Thomas, in the hopes of making himself feel better. If he played his cards right, perhaps he could be talked into the swimming pool again.

*

Jimmy approached the house from the back, and was glad he did, because Thomas was lurking around the outside of the barn, smoking, absently twirling a riding crop in the dust. His eyes were closed, enjoying the sun on his face. He had a fondness for it that was entirely unexpected, as far as Jimmy was concerned. He’d planned to sneak up and make him jump, but he didn’t have the uncanny ability to drift around silently like Thomas did, and he was noticed.

“Jimmy,” Thomas said with mild surprise and an inevitable lightening of his posture at Jimmy’s presence, “ what are you doing up here? I thought you’d be at the bar by now.”

“No, they don’t want me ‘til this evening,” Thomas threw an arm about his waist and pulled him in for a quick kiss hello. “And what are you doing out here? Surely there’s something for you to be doing in the house – do you ever do any actual work?”

Thomas let him go, swatting him lightly for his cheek. “The family are in town, so there’s not a lot for me to do until they get back. Lady Mary wanted to pick out a few things ready for next week – “

“Oh bloody hell, I’d forgotten about that.”

“ – and she’ll bring back her list of orders for me to see to later. Might get a few more lads up from town to help out; she’ll want things done properly while Lord and Lady Grantham are here.”

“I don’t see why they have to come at all,” Jimmy complained, leaning against the barn door, “I thought the whole point were for her and Mr Branson to get away from it all.”

“They’re worried about her, I expect, not that they need to be,” he let a wisp of smoke escape out the side of his mouth, “and keen to have a nose about the house, more than likely. Besides, I don’t see why you’re whining about it. You don’t work here, so it’ll be no extra hassle for you.”

“No. But it means you’ll have to sleep up here, all alone, instead of with me.” Though he was teasing, the notion was still an unpleasant one. It felt like a sliver of the freedom they’d won since leaving the country had been stolen back again.

Thomas huffed in laughter around his cigarette. “I’m sure we’ll survive. It’s not as bad as it were before.”

“I suppose not,” he said quietly. “I – I’ll miss you though.”

“Honestly,” Thomas scoffed, though he looked pleased, “and you’ve got the nerve to call me soppy.” 

A horse called to another from the nearby stables. The noise made him jump, and it occurred to Jimmy that this was a strange place for Thomas to be. “Why are you up here?”

“I just told you.”

“I meant the stables. I didn’t think you cared much for horses.”

“I like them well enough, from a distance. I were talking to the groom a day or two ago – not that he can speak much English, mind, though Alvaro’s been trying his best to teach him – and he offered to show me around.”

Bloomin’ Alvaro, popping up at every turn. “Whose horses are they?” Jimmy frowned, “not Lady Mary’s or Mr Branson’s, I know that much.”

“No. They belong to that friend of Lady Edith’s husband, the man they’re renting the place from. Apparently he hasn’t decided what to do with them yet. They’re nice to look at though; big, grey things with dark eyes,” he frowned. “He told me the name of the breed, but I can’t remember. Something Spanish.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, Jimmy closing his eyes and enjoying the slightly cooler air in the shade of the barn doorway. The stillness of the hot Spanish air was something he had yet to get used to. It was enchanting almost, haunting, like it was all part of a dream, one that he was more than willing to lose himself in. That is, until he noticed the rhythmic, gentle tap of the riding crop against Thomas’ leg. Jimmy was compelled to open his eyes, drawn immediately to where Thomas absently tapped his calf with the crop as he smoked. He couldn’t stop staring – Thomas’ pale fingers wrapped loosely around the crop, the muffled thump as it came into contact with his leg, the little crease it was leaving behind in the fabric of his trousers… Perhaps his eyes had lingered a little too long, because Thomas noticed – of course he did, observant bugger – and stilled. 

“Jimmy?”

“Mm?” too late, his eyes flickered innocently back up to Thomas’ face. “What?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, like he always did when someone asked what he perceived to be a stupid question, and exhaled the last of the smoke, grinding the end of the cigarette into the dirt. “Get in the barn, Jimmy.”

“What?”

He nodded to the door and gestured inside with the crop, “in the barn.”

“…Alright.”

Not quite sure what was going to happen but with the sneaking suspicion he was going to enjoy it very much indeed, Jimmy slipped through the narrow gap of the barn door, Thomas close behind him. It was warm inside, but cooler than under the sun; shafts of orange light coming through the slats of wood and catching the dust, lighting the edges of the bales of straw and the few immaculate items of horses’ tack and farm machinery. Jimmy turned to see Thomas slide the door the rest of the way shut, crop tucked neatly under his arm. Sergeant Barrow indeed. He walked slowly towards Jimmy, coming to a halt a few measured paces away. Jimmy made to go to him, but Thomas stopped him by holding out the crop so it poked him in the chest, leaving a sizeable gap between them.

“No,” Thomas said quietly, “stay still.”

Oh. 

Though every nerve in his body was thrumming and he longed to leap at Thomas and kiss him to within an inch of his life, Jimmy did as he was told. But he made sure to glare as he did so. Thomas ran the end of the crop gently down his chest to his stomach, pausing at the waistband of his trousers and making Jimmy’s breath hitch, before bringing it back up under his chin, tilting it up as though inspecting him.

“Well, you are a pretty one and no mistake,” he spoke so softly that Jimmy would have thought he said it aloud unintentionally, but he knew Thomas was aware of how the use of that word both irritated and aroused him, and as such guessed it was said for his benefit. Besides, they always were ones for theatricality. If it was Thomas’ intention to get Jimmy riled up, it worked.   
He continued to smirk at Jimmy’s flushed face and flourish the crop about without really doing much with it other than making Jimmy terribly aware of its presence, until he couldn’t take the taunting any longer and batted the crop aside, backing Thomas up until he hit the wall and pinning him there, kissing him hard and with a bit more tooth than was strictly necessary. He’d caught Thomas by surprise, but when he’d recovered, he removed himself firmly from Jimmy’s grasp, and raised an eyebrow.

Jimmy sighed and flopped his head back in exasperation. “What?”

“Play the game properly, Mr Kent, or not at all.” He spoke smoothly, almost in his ‘upstairs’ voice, but there was a hint of challenge that Jimmy didn’t miss. It was the moment he gave Jimmy to opt out, if he so wanted, but fucked if Jimmy was going to take it. It was wildly unlike anything they’d done together before, and Jimmy could feel his body throb with anticipation, the pulse in his wrists quick under Thomas’ grasp.

“As you say, Mr Barrow,” he countered as neutrally as he could, in his best footman voice. It was a bit rusty from disuse. 

“Good. Now, do as I say.” Jimmy almost told him to bugger off, but held his tongue. Just to see where this was going, mind. “Turn around, so you’re facing that table.” Jimmy turned around slowly – because if Thomas wanted a show, he would damn well give him one – to face the small, worn-smooth table littered with hoof picks and spare stirrup irons. “Now put your hands flat on the table top.” Jimmy did so, having to bend forward ever so slightly due to the height of the table, feeling the tiniest bit ridiculous with his backside stuck out a little. “Good,” repeated Thomas, voice turning rough, and Jimmy distinctly heard him swallow, “don’t move.”

There was no way of knowing what Thomas was doing behind him, and it was trust as much as curiosity that led Jimmy to keep his sweating hands pressed flat to the table. As much as he was anticipating it, he still didn’t hear Thomas approach, and startled when he felt hot breath against the back of his neck. A soft press of lips across his nape, moving down under his ear, eager but no less gentle for it, an affectionate gesture that was Thomas’ way of giving reassurance. He also knew Thomas was going soppy on him again, and making it clear they could stop if it was what he wanted. So, naturally, Jimmy made it clear he had every intention of seeing this little charade through to the end. 

“Mr Barrow…” he whined low in his throat, marvelling at his own cleverness, and pushed back against him. He could feel the length of Thomas’ torso flush against his back, the heat from his chest and his erection insistent against his backside. It used to embarrass him, how much he revelled in the feeling of Thomas’ swollen cock pressed against him through their clothes; there was something incredibly lewd about it, unmistakable arousal still concealed by fabric. He’d gotten over it.

He felt Thomas freeze up for just a moment, almost imperceptibly, before giving his ear a nip and bringing his hands down across Jimmy’s chest just because he knew he liked it, fumbling briefly with the fastening of his trousers, before slipping them down so they settled around his knees. Jimmy’s thighs were already sticky with the heat of the afternoon, and he only got warmer as he felt the press of the leather crop against his skin, nudging his legs further apart. The whine that left his throat that time wasn’t planned. Before he had the time to wonder at the strength of his reaction to the crop on his skin, Thomas was close behind him again, a clever hand stroking his hardness through his underwear. The steady rhythm of Thomas’ touch and the sensation of his body rocking ever so slightly against Jimmy, as well as the proximity of the damned crop, was bringing him alarmingly close to the edge. There was no time to worry over it though, as Thomas pulled away, fingers slipping under the waistband of Jimmy’s underwear and bringing them down about his knees with his trousers. He was bare now between his waist and his knees, hard as heck, and desperate to know what else Thomas had in store for him. Had he done anything like this with his previous lovers? He’d never mentioned it… Jimmy’s musings were cut short when Thomas splayed his hands over his backside, one warm and slightly damp with heat, the other the familiar worn leather of a glove. 

“Ahh fuck, Thomas,” Jimmy hissed at the fingertips grasping at him, pushing back onto the contact.

“Lean forward for me, love,” Thomas said gruffly into his ear, and Jimmy did so, sliding down so his elbows rested on the table, his arse stuck out even further behind him.

Then Thomas’ hands were gone, and the muscles along Jimmy’s thighs were twitching in anticipation and the effort of keeping himself upright. The crop was back again, the end running over the small of his back, stroking over his behind. Almost without realising he was doing it, Jimmy rutted against the smooth wood of the underside of the table. It wasn’t particularly pleasant, but he just needed some damned relief.  
He was so busy thinking about his cock, that he’d stopped thinking about Thomas. As a result, the firm slap of a hand across his bum caught him completely unawares and he cried out, yelp melting into a moan as the sting faded into heat. Almost immediately, Thomas’ hand was smoothing over the place he’d just hit, a gesture of uncertainty and soothing. But Jimmy found he didn’t particularly want soothing. Not right now, anyway.

“Thomas,” he just about managed to hiss out, short of breath where the table was digging into his stomach, “if you don’t do that again this instant, I’ll never speak to you again.” 

There was a brief moment of silence in which Jimmy could practically hear Thomas raising his eyebrows, before he felt his lover’s breath on his neck, “as you say, Mr Kent.” Thomas gave him another firm slap, a little harder than the first, quickly followed by another, the sting not so fast to fade this time. It was a little humiliating, but not in the way anything ever had been before; liberating, almost. 

“Ahh, fuck!” Jimmy was about ready to scream with frustration, every muscle in his body taut and aching, when Thomas finally deigned to take pity on him, and reached down to take him in hand. Things were hazy for Jimmy after that; coherent thought all but banished with the desperation for release. He stared at his hands on the table top, knuckles white and nails digging into the surface of the wood, tendons on the backs of his hands tight with the strain. He came with an embarrassingly loud shout, dimly registering the choked gasp Thomas made as he followed.

They lay slumped together against the straw bales, the stalks prickling at their backs as they exchanged lazy kisses, fingers loosely entwined. Jimmy knew Thomas would want to be smoking, but he couldn’t in the barn, there was too much risk of fire. That was something they’d be revisiting and no mistake, though Jimmy didn’t particularly wish to dwell on the details of why it had affected him so. He far from regretted what they’d done, it had been bloody marvellous, actually; but now they were both damp with sweat and sticky, the overbearing heat only making it more uncomfortable. He smiled as Thomas stroked his hair. The walk back into town would be torture, though Jimmy thought he might manage it, with thoughts of the man who shared his bed and his heart strong in his mind.


End file.
